The Ending
by Cascade Fantasy
Summary: Mac thought he was finally at a point in his life where he was satisfied with where he was-he's just debating with Bloo whether or not to have another baby. But that problem seems minimal compared to the re-encounter of someone from his past. Meanwhile, Junior, now in the sixth grade, is having his own problems regarding who to love and how he defines himself.
1. Chapter 1

_Ta-daaa! Thanks again for taking the time to read this little fan-fic series of mine. This is the ending to my Foster's MacxBloo series fics, as so aptly titled "The Ending." Here's my warning for people who accidentally stumbled across this: IF YOU DON'T LIKE YAOI, OR BOY X BOY, OR MPREG, DO NOT READ THIS. Reviews are welcome. Disclaimer: I do not own Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends or any of its characters. _

_So, many readers might be thinking right now, "Why the hell is there another sequel? I thought that everything was pretty much resolved between Mac and Bloo." Right-o! But other things haven't been resolved in Mac's life, and this story focuses on the examination of those things. Plus, I wanted an excuse to write a story with Junior being a more prominent role. He's pretty cool now that he's not two anymore..._

**Chapter One**

"Blooregard Evans-Kazoo!"

Junior, who had been staring out the window with extreme boredom, snapped his attention back to the front of the room. His teacher, Ms. Ischowitz, a lanky woman in her fifties, hunched over her desk, glancing up and down at her textbook. Junior, bewildered, glanced across the room at Willow, his best friend, who was biting her sweet pink lips and casting him a worried look.

"Junior, sometime today?" Ms. Ischowitz said tiredly, glaring at him.

"The answer is 36," Junior responded, analyzing the math on the board. His brain felt a slight rush as he completed the problem in his head, smiled when he had reached the conclusion. Math was so easy.

"Thank you, Junior. That was the first problem that we did. How about the next one?"

The class snickered and Willow shook her head and hid her nose in her math book. Junior smirked and gave a cocky tip of his head.

"Yeah, that one is 72."

The class murmured in admiration, and Ms. Ischowitz blushed slightly, irritated.

"Could you please pay attention?" she snapped, closing her textbook. "I'll never understand what exactly is so interesting outside, but if you could focus in class, that would be nice."

_Reprimanding me like that in front of the class_, Junior thought heatedly. _Who the heck does she think she is? It's sixth grade math, no one cares. _

The bell rang and Willow scooped up her books. Junior picked up his book bag and slung it over his shoulder. Willow approached him, her eyes still nervous. She was always a bit of a jittery girl, looking like she was afraid of something.

"Junior, you really shouldn't goof off as much as you do," Willow whispered, tucking a strand of her straw yellow her ear.

Ms. Ischowitz blew her nose from her desk, snuffled, and then got up and left the room, leaving the two of them alone. Junior cast Willow a confident grin.

"Right. What's she going to do? I've got the best grades out of anybody in this class."

"She called on me again. I couldn't answer."

"Don't worry about it. You'll figure it out. I'll help you."

"I hate algebra," she whispered, sounding like she was going to cry.

The two left the room and headed down the hallway, through the streams of kids, to their lockers. Since their names were both right next to each other alphabetically—"Evans" and "Evansky"—they had basically been right next to each other since kindergarten when they had to share the same cubby hole. Willow had taken one look at Junior's aqua blue skin and smiled.

"Are you an imaginary friend?" she asked, opening her bag of bear-shaped graham crackers.

"My Dad is," Junior had answered, smiling slightly nervously. He knew from parent's night, which had been held a week prior, that he was the only kid in the whole class who had _two _dads. He was also the only kid that had an imaginary friend for a parent. And he still remembered the nasty looks that Jacob and Terry Wilson had given him when their mother was gloating about how the boys could read a picture book. He had remembered Willow, the timid little girl who had cried in the back corner of the room, and how her parents had begun arguing over her.

"Oh," Willow said, "You're the kid with two daddies, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Cool," Willow smiled. "Want to be friends?"

Wary of her kindness, Junior had said, "Oh I don't know… I don't think I could be friends with a _girl_."

Willow's smile had vanished then, and she wandered off to try to go and play with the other girls. They, being little girls (and little girls _not _being the nicest) giggled at her request to participate, and cast her away. Junior had watched from where he stood, and saw her wander from group to group, and all of them shunned her. He remembered, those days in preschool, when he had been shunned similarly. He had gotten used to kids' harshness, and had toughened up because of it, but rejection had cast an opposite effect on Willow. She went to the middle of the room, and had sat there crying with her open bag of crackers.

Junior walked over; he had blushed deeply, and declared, "Never mind! You're really cool!"

"W-what?" she murmured through her tears.

"Yeah." He had smiled. "So don't cry, don't cry. We'll be friends."

And for better or worse, they had been best friends ever since: spending nights, weekends, and afternoons together, playing at Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, and getting into all sorts of wacky situations. When the sun had fallen low on the horizon and cast its orange glow over suburbia, he had walked her all the way home, past the field with tall crackling grass that hid the homes of the magical fireflies. She lived just down the road from him. They had grown up together, and they had been there for each other in their darkest of times: when Mr. Herriman had passed on, when Willow's parents had gotten divorced, when favorite friends from the house had been adopted, or when their favorite television shows were cancelled. The two were basically inseparable.

Now they were on that long walk back home from the middle school. Spring was emerging and things alive in this concrete sparse-tree area of town. Courts were filled with gaggles of kids rushing around, making noise and playing tennis or basketball.

They came to a crosswalk and stopped.

"How is your mom's new boyfriend?"

"I don't like him."

Junior thought sarcastically, _There's a first. _

Willow wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged herself. "I mean… he's kind of a jerk. He fought with my mom the other night and she was crying."

"What were they fighting about?"

"I don't know," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Whatever it was, she was really upset. She went into her room and didn't come out."

The symbol on the traffic light changed and they walked across the street. Quaint shops, built of brick and cement, lined the town's freshly refinished roads. As the spring had come with unusually warm weather, the doors were opening, and people milled in and out of the shops along the street. Junior and Willow still had about a 1/3 of a way to go back to Foster's. They spent it in peaceful companionship.

Mac looked up at Bloo from underneath his bangs, slightly irritated.

"Bloo, I said I don't know."

He folded another shirt in half and moved on to the next one in the pile. Beside him, a small pink imaginary friend with a flute like nose folded socks. Bloo stood in the doorway, his arms crossed.

"Well come on, Mac."

"Bloo, can we not talk about this in front of Strudel?" Mac indicated the helper beside him with a dip of his head.

Strudel laughed, and when he did so, his nose whistled a few notes. "No, really, it's okay, I quite enjoy this."

Mac rolled his eyes and dumped the rest of the clothes onto the bed. He snapped a pair of jeans back into their shape with a sturdy reflex of his arms and quietly asked Strudel to deliver some of the clothes. After checking the tags on each item, Strudel swept up the finished clothes of other friends and then headed out the door.

"I just don't know how I feel about having another baby, Bloo." Mac sighed as he finished folding the pants. He crisply tucked the corners, obsessively straightening the edges and smoothing wrinkles.

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Mac said, with an incredulous scoff. "Why not? Because Frankie and Vince already have _two _kids in addition to our first, which makes _three_ kids cutting into the fortune; our son is twelve and would therefore be twelve years apart in age from the new baby, and I don't know how much it would take for me to carry another… Or if it's even possible."

"Right." Bloo said, shutting the door behind them and walking over to where Mac was putting away his clothes in the drawers. "But it should be, shouldn't it? I mean, we've been using birth control for years, and we haven't slipped once… You haven't gotten pregnant."

"Maybe I'm too preoccupied to concentrate on conceiving a baby," Mac suggested with another tired sigh. "Or maybe I just don't want to."

Mac's mind floated back to an earlier time, when he had been desperately young. How when they had been in Europe, Junior had slept in a little basket by the bed, or in a box beside Mac, never with a crib to call his own. He remembered the countless nights he had gotten up, carried a wailing baby outside, and paced the dimly lit hallways of unfamiliar hotels. He could recall how after he got Junior back to sleep, how he would slink down against the wall in a blur of tears and fall asleep right outside the hotel door, clutching his son tightly to his chest. It had been the hardest time of his life, and he still couldn't believe that he had done it. He had had to do it all without Bloo, since they had been broken up at the time.

"I know, I know that it really sucked the first time we had a baby."

"_I _had the baby, Bloo."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Bloo said defensively, his tone slightly heated. "But Mac, we've been together for ten years now. We're basically married. I'm going to be taking half of the weight of your shoulders."

_Or adding to it_, Mac thought with a smirk, knowing how annoying that Bloo could get.

"What even brought this up?" Mac said, closing another drawer and retrieving the basket that was on the bed. "Why do you want another baby?"

"Because I want to have that chance with you!" Bloo responded energetically. "I never got to experience being with Junior in his earliest moments. I didn't teach him how to walk, or to talk, or to be potty trained…" Bloo's voice got a little sad. "And it kind of sucks, knowing that you did all of that and I had no part in it. Cause I'm his dad."

"There was nothing you could do," Mac answered. "I was halfway across the world, traipsing around Europe."

He kissed Bloo's forehead, and stared into his partner's deep black eyes. "I didn't say that I wouldn't agree to it."

"Maybe is basically like saying no," Bloo grumbled.

Mac's eyes flashed. "Well, a 'maybe' is better than a 'no.'"

With that, Bloo knew that their conversation for the time being had ended. Mac whisked himself out their bedroom door and back down the stairs. Bloo trailed after him. Just as they were halfway down, the doors opened and Willow and Junior entered.

"Yo, dads," Junior said, giving his parents a nod. "Is it cool if Willow is here for dinner?"

"You know Willow is always welcome here, Junior," Mac replied, a twinkle in his eye as he surveyed the two. "So, Willow, did Junior do anything bad today?"

"He kinda spaced out in math class," Willow admitted, blushing. She could not tell a lie; it was not in her nature.

"Ooh with Mrs. Ischowitz?" Bloo gagged himself.

"_Ms._," Junior corrected dryly. "No one would marry that old hag."

Mac rolled his eyes. "Be nice, Junior. You have her for two more months of school; you can last that long."

"Ugh," Junior groaned, slumping his backpack on the floor by the old coat hanger in a secluded corner of the front hall. "Two more months? Dad, don't remind me."

Willow politely hung up her coat and tidily placed her shoes together. Mac and Bloo left to go to the laundry room, gossiping about something. Willow smiled strangely, gazing after them.

"I think there's something going on with your dads," she told Junior as they headed down the left hallway towards the game room. "Don't you think they seem a bit different today?"

"Don't know, don't care," Junior answered, grinning at her. "Aren't they always a bit weird?"

"Yeah, but I can't quite place it," Willow added, "it's like they're caught between bickering and something else."

"Aren't they always happily bickering like the newlyweds they are?"

"No, it's something else," Willow protested firmly. "I'm sure it is."

"Willow, do you know what you want to do today?"

"Weren't you going to help me on my math homework?"

"Later, girl," Junior said with a laugh. "You gotta relax some time y'know?"

Willow blushed and they headed into the game room. Fluffer Nutter sat on the couch with an irritated look on her face as she listened to Jackie obnoxiously hoot and laugh at some sort of commercial. Their three children, who were sitting down in front, copied their father to almost a t. Five years ago, when Junior had been seven, the two imaginary friends had run off for a while, only to come back six months later with a marriage license from Canada and with Fluffer Nutter expecting triplets. Since it was an additional three mouths to feed at Foster's, Frankie and Mac had agreed to house them, but only if they would pull their own weight as best they could: which meant getting jobs. Of course, Fluffer Nutter was the only one who actually got a job.

"Hey Fluffer Nutter. Hey Jackie. Whatchu guys up to?"

Fluffer Nutter let out an aggravated sigh and quipped, "Oh, nothing. Just staying in a dark smelly room on my day off from the flower shop. Watching an old movie."

"Ooh, what movie?"

"_Beethoven_," she responded dully. "That one about the dog."

"Oh." Junior was unexcited now too. "Do you guys mind if Willow and I play a video game? We're getting kinda far on Sky Rim."

"Hey, kid, you still got five wives?" Jackie Khones asked in his dark, rich voice. His one eye glanced back to Junior.

"You know it."

"Atta boy!"

Fluffer Nutter rolled her eyes and then promptly exited the room. The three children, who had short attention spans, also left with their mother. Jackie parted ways from them to go and make a sandwich. Junior flicked on the Xbox 360 and snatched up the controller and immersed himself in the game of SkyRim. Willow, who while liked SkyRim, was content to just sit there and watch him play the game by himself. She always had admired how smoothly Junior seemed to do things: watching him complete a task, whether in real life or in a game, was always interesting to her.

"I like her," Junior said, directing his character over to an oddly attractive Dark Elf.

"Why?" Willow scrunched up her nose at the character, with the beady red eyes and charcoal lips.

"She's prettier than most Dark Elves," Junior replied. "I think she'll be wife number six."

While Junior then proceeded to interact with the cyber woman, Willow's mind drifted to a faraway, soft place.

"Junior."

"Yeah?"

"Am I pretty?"

He turned and looked over at her, blinking in confusion. He stared at his best friend, who looked at him expectantly.

"Uh. Why?"

"I just want to know. Do you think I'm pretty?"

"Sure." Junior turned his attention back to the game. "I think you're attractive. Yeah, why not?"

Willow's heart fell a little bit, and she felt something in the pit of her stomach become awfully sore. Why had she asked the question? And why wasn't it the answer that she was looking for?

_Probably because it wasn't very genuine, _she answered for herself, settling back into her seat. She pulled her knees to her chest and set her chin on top of them. _But, I mean, it's Junior. He's really not that deep of a guy. _

Junior, to her, had always been this happy go lucky person who was eager for life. He lived to live, and had always planned out their adventures. Willow had been his trusty sidekick, following him around all the time, somehow always knowing that his ideas were the best. When Willow had been picked on in school (particularly by Billy, the son of her mother's long time now ex boyfriend) Junior had always been around to kick some ass, bash a few heads in, and get himself sent to the principal's office. And he would do it all with the cockiest smile on his face. A part of her had always loved him, while a part of her loved him now.

"So… my dads. You think they've been acting weird."

"Yeah."

"Well, now that you mention it," Junior said to her, "I think that something funny has been going on too. I mean, like, the other day I saw Papa in one of the old storage rooms, and he was pushing aside some stuff and analyzing things… Talking about paint and something…"

"Sounds important. Maybe they're moving into that room."

"No. It's really small and doesn't have a bathroom like their bedroom does," Junior protested. "No, it's something else. I hope they'll tell me. Oh well."

As he said this, something in Willow's mind clicked. She looked at Junior with wide eyes.

"You don't think… maybe…"

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe they're going to have another baby."

Junior threw back his head and howled with laughter. Willow smiled slightly, and rolled her eyes at her friend. Junior was doubling over, his sides hurting as he laughed.

"Oh my God, Willow," he said, still laughing as he wiped a tear from his eye, "that is just too funny. Maybe you should be a comedian when you grow up."

"Well, what exactly would prevent them from having another baby?"

"Uhh… Well, here's one thing: I was basically grown all sci-fi style in a culture for the final three months. There was a whole team of super scientist-doctors that were behind making sure I survived. For the sake of science or something I guess." Junior rapidly tapped the buttons on the controller. "I was lucky I didn't have cerebral palsy or was mentally disabled."

"And so?"

"So if they were thinking about having another baby it's probably a stupid idea."

"But you turned out so great!" Willow said with a blush, and Junior smiled at her.

"Yeah, I know. I'm pretty cool. But no younger sister or brother is going to outmatch my coolness," he responded.

He suddenly reached over and flicked off the Xbox.

"I changed my mind. Do you want to go and bug the crap out of Duchess, or see if Wilt wants to play b-ball with us?"

"Basketball, definitely," Willow said, nodding her head.

The two then got up and promptly exited the room in search of Wilt.

Mac sighed in aggravation as another sock fluttered to the ground like an autumn leaf.

_I hate laundry days, _he thought as he bent down to pick up the sock.

He headed down the front hall steps and saw Eduardo entering through the front door, carrying what was today's mail for the house.

"What have we got there, Ed?" he asked as he descended the stairs.

"Junk, junk, junk, malo, malo, malo… bills, bills, ooh!" Eduardo's hoof-claw suddenly withdrew a coupon book. "Senor Mac! Coupons!"

"Gas station coupons," Mac replied.

"Si! Es muy bueno! Ooh, look, this large soda only costs 25 cents after purchasing three gallons of gas!"

Mac laughed as Eduardo raced away. He began to wander the halls in search of a friend who would maybe take this load off of him. Frankie and Vince had taken their girls to go see their grandparents who were on Vince's side of the family. They wouldn't be back for a few weeks at most. His workload for him had consequently doubled.

Suddenly he felt a gust of wind blow by him as Willow and Junior raced by.

"Hey!" Mac cried out. "No running in the halls!"

"Sorry, Dad," Junior said, grinning at his dad as he turned his body around. "Have you seen Wilt?"

"He should be in the kitchen doing the dishes, or if he's finished that, he'll be outside."

"Alright, thanks!"

"Thanks Mr. Evans!"

They then began to race off again as if Mac's first rule hadn't breeched their heads—which it obviously hadn't.

Mac dragged his body into the dining hall and sat down in what used to be Mr. Herriman's chair. The old rabbit had died roughly six years ago, four years after the death of his creator, the late Madame Foster, who had been Frankie's grandmother. Ever since his death, the position of house president had been up for grabs, but since authority mainly circulated evenly from Frankie to Mac, it had remained unfilled, and thus the office had also remained untouched. Occasionally Mac would go in there and dust, and maybe mumble a hello to Mr. Herriman, as it seemed he was always there. There were rumors that the friends passed around that late at night, you could hear his feather pen scratching across sheets of parchment, the old calculator churning out numbers, and the thump-thump-thump of his footsteps across the white tiles.

Mac folded multiple shirts and socks, and didn't even try to crack the wrinkles out of the pants. Multiple friends passed by him as if it was during some sort of rush hour at the house. He wondered when he would have to start dinner.

"Ugh, my head…" Mac mumbled, touching his temples and rubbing them as the onset of a headache occurred.

He heard the front door squeak open. He stood up, and quickly fixed his white sweater as he went to go and see who the visitor was.

"Hello," he said with a yawn, which he quickly covered. "Are you here to adopt an imaginary friend?"

A woman stood in the front hallway, wearing a brown trench coat even though it was the beginning of summer. Her hair, which had traces of a reddish orange in its brown hue, had been shaved down to her skull. Her face had aged considerably, as wrinkles had stretched out what had once been youngness. She stood perched on the edge of the rug, her feet perched like she was excited, but too scared to enter. She embraced everything with her eyes.

"Um, hello?" Mac asked again, trying to hide the annoyance in his voice. _It's almost like 5:30. What are you doing here? _

Then she turned to face him, and he felt floored. His face flushed, and his eyes widened. She smiled at him, shyly.

"Hi, Mac."

The silence in the room was deadening. Mac almost felt like he could scarcely breathe. He just stared at this woman, the woman who had abandoned him even though he was her own.

His mother.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Mac never imagined in his life that he would ever have had to confront this woman again. Even now, when she looked oddly frail and old, she seemed so strong. So willful, like she could crush him in a battle of minds in no time flat.

"Um, I'm sorry…" Mac said, wiping his sweating palms on the knees of his slacks. He decided to try to play dumb, to be coy. "Were you here to adopt an imaginary friend?"

"Mac." Her heels clicked against the ground as she walked towards him. Her eyes smiled as she reached up a hand to touch his face, but he recoiled in disgust.

He glared at her and she stood there with a distant look on her face that was matched with a sympathetic smile.

"We both know how bad of a liar you are, Mac," she murmured.

"I'm not dealing with this," he declared, and turned on his heel and retreated back into the dining hall.

He heard the _click-click-click _eagerly trailing along behind him. He rolled his eyes and scooped up the remaining laundry that had been unfolded. He rolled it into a ball and chucked it into the basket with a huff.

"Mac, please."

"Please. Please what?"

"I need to talk to you."

He turned around again, trembling with anger as he dared to lock eyes with his mother. It seems that their intense glares were both evenly matched.

"If this is about Terrence," he said, "if this has anything to do with Terrence being in trouble and you needing help, I can't do it. I've got other obligations, and you—"

"—If it was even about your brother, you should care as well—"

"_Really?_" Mac's voice was shrill. "You let him call me a faggot! Golly gee, Mom, thanks a lot for that!"

They exited the dining hall, and Mac proceeded down a hallway with a series of bedrooms. A few imaginary friends ducked their heads out of their door frames to see what Mac was in such a huff over.

"Not to mention," Mac continued, "that you let him beat the shit out of me on countless occasions. So, like I said, if this is about Terrence—"

"It's not!" his mother cried out desperately. "Would you just listen to me!"

"I don't know what makes you think you deserve to be listened to," Mac responded harshly, shaking his head. "We live in the same town and yet you haven't spoken to me for close to twelve years."

"I'm your mother, that's _why_!" she responded hotly, stamping her heel on the ground. "Maxwell Robert Evans! Listen to me!"

He whipped around and faced her once again. "What?" he demanded tersely. "Why the hell are you here, Margaret? Why?"

"I just wanted to talk." She spread her hands helplessly, as if begging him to listen to her. "Mac."

"Uh uh," he protested coldly. "Look, I've got enough on my plate right now…"

He twisted his body to allow a few friends to pass by him in the hallway. They bounced a ball and shrieked with laughter as they carried along. Mac exhaled and blew a shot of air upwards at his bangs.

"Hey! No running!" he yelled after them, clenching his jaw. "And no playing ball in the house! Do it outside!"

"We're playing hide and seek basketball, though!" a small pink colored friend with wings protested as the group turned around.

Mac dragged a hand over his face. "And whose idea was that?"

"Junior's," another chimed in, laughing. "Man, he always comes up with the best games."

"I thought he went to go and find Wilt."

"Wilt's playing too!"

"Guys, let's go find a hole that we can shoot the ball through!"

"Oh my God," Mac moaned, laughing a little bit as they all wandered away. "That's going to end badly."

Mac's mother stared questioningly at her son.

"Who is Junior?"

"Huh?" he seemed to have forgotten that she was there. Then he remembered what he was in the middle of again and narrowed his eyes. "That's none of your business."

"Oh come on, Mac…"

"Look, just say what you need to say."

"Well," she said tentatively, "I was hoping that we could at least sit down somewhere."

"I don't intend on you staying long," Mac snapped testily. "So say your piece and kindly leave. I have work to do. Dinner to cook, laundry to fold."

_A son to raise, _the voice in his head added helpfully. _A partner to argue with. A possible baby to plan. _

She returned him a biting stare. She threw back her shoulders and straightened her posture.

"I have breast cancer. Fourth stage. So, I don't have much time left."

Mac's eyes widened with shock. She now suddenly looked so desperate to him, such a sad and lonely creature. She wrung her hands and bit her lip, searching for more words to say.

"But that's not all," she murmured, glancing up at him. "Mac. Your father. He got out of the federal state prison."

"Oh my God," Mac whispered. He moved into a room and sat down on one of the beds. "Oh my God, oh my God…"

He bent over and ran his hands through his hair, over his face, over his mouth. She followed him in and quietly stood, waiting patiently.

"Why are you even telling me all of this?" Mac demanded, raising his head to look at her.

"Because I have regrets about how I raised you and treated you. And he has regrets over you boys too."

"But what about Terrence? Why didn't you tell Terrence? You basically disowned me."

"I never disowned you, Mac—"

"—Margaret, don't even try it. You screamed at me to get the hell out and never come back." He mumbled in a bitter voice.

"Terrence is off doing something. I haven't seen him for a few months. He's probably getting into the same trouble your father had gotten into," she responded, smoothing out the skirt of her coat.

"So what exactly are you trying to do here?"

"I'm trying to fix things with you. I don't have a lot of time left. Fourth stage cancer and all. I probably have about three months. So I figured I should straighten out a few things. That I shouldn't die with any regrets. And one of my regrets is exactly what I did to you all those years ago." She sat down, on a little stool that had been pushed underneath a vanity table with cracks in the paint. "Your father. You remember, right? What he was in for?"

"Possession of cocaine," Mac muttered. "A large enough amount that they thought he was a drug dealer."

"Yes, well…" his mother trailed off nervously. "He hasn't seen you since you were three."

"Who is to blame for that?"

"Well, me. But also himself," she added hastily. "When I divorced him, I was able to get total custody of the both of you. Come on, though, Mac. No one wants to grow up with a father who was a drug dealer."

"And he…"

"He just wants to see you again. To get to know you. He hasn't seen you since you were a baby, Mac. He doesn't even know what you look like—I never sent him any pictures."

"Well, he never wrote me any letters."

"Yes, well… Apparently he's changed his mind."

"You two…" Mac shook his head and sighed. "You guys just don't get it."

"I don't get what?"

Mac leaned forward and looked at her. "A parent just… just can't decide when they want to see their child. You just have to be there."

"Excuse me? Are you honestly trying to lecture me on parenting?" his mother let out a laugh. "Mac, please. I _know _what it takes to be a parent. And I know that I haven't been the best, but I have done all I could."

Mac glared at her. "I do know what it means to be a parent. I know what it takes to be a parent." He lowered his head and exhaled, trying to get his beating heart to relax its pace. "So. The two of you have suddenly decided to involve yourselves in my life again."

"Yes. Your father is getting out of jail on Monday morning," she said, standing up. "So, I was wondering if I could just…" she fumbled in the pocket of her coat and withdrew a small business card. "You know, arrange a time and a place to meet at."

"Okay." Mac took the card. "Are you going to leave now?"

"Well," she said, twisting her body around awkwardly, "I don't think I can get out of here by myself without a little help."

"Fine."

Mac abandoned the basket of laundry and exited the room, retracing his steps down the hallway and back into the foyer. With a swift tug, he pulled open the mighty purple door and allowed her to exit. She glanced over her shoulder, and paused as if to say something, but decided against it and proceeded to walk down the steps, out of the gate, and retreated back to her car.

With an adrenaline rush, Mac slammed the door shut, all of his nerves on fire and tingling.

"That woman," he grumbled as he headed into the kitchen. "Ooh, that woman."

He caught Bloo drinking out of the carton of orange juice, but while that would normally incite him to yell, he just snatched the carton from Bloo's grasp and chugged it down. Bloo watched him with wide, confused eyes as Mac wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and handed the carton back to him.

"That woman, that woman," Mac continued to mumble underneath his breath as he started to assemble a row of pots and pans on the counter for dinner. He slammed boxes of spaghetti down onto the counter and twisted a glass jar of premade spaghetti sauce around and around in his hands.

"Uh, Mac?" Bloo asked, approaching him. "Is it just me, or do you seem like you're ready to kill someone?"

He whipped around and flicked on the kitchen sink, filling up each of the stainless steel pots until they were heavy with water.

"It was my mother," he said with a heavy sigh as he now finally got a hold of himself, the running water soothing his wild mind.

"Your _mom_?" Bloo exclaimed, watching as Mac switched on the burners on the stove. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious, though I wish I wasn't."

"W-wh-why?" Bloo burst. "I thought she hated you! I thought she kicked you to the curb!"

"I did too." Mac turned around and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "But she just randomly came by, dropped a couple of bombshells and babbled about fixing her mistakes and then left."

"What bombshells?"

"My dad is out of prison. She's got fourth stage breast cancer." Mac clamped a hand over his mouth, suddenly feeling very emotional. "She just comes by and dumps it on me, thinking that I can handle it like she always has."

"Oh Mac…" Bloo came forward and hugged him tightly, and kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry, Mac."

"Don't be sorry for her," Mac protested, pushing himself away from Bloo. "She's a bad woman!"

"Yeah," Bloo agreed quietly. "But she's still your mom."

"Why did you decide to have a conscience just now?" Mac said with a little laugh, wiping the tears from his eyes.

He turned his attention to the pots filled with boiling water and ripped open boxes of spaghetti, dumping the fragile, long strands into the water. He took an implement and pushed the noodles around, soaking them.

Bloo stood hesitantly behind him, wary. "You sure you okay?"

"I'm not," Mac answered. "But I'm going to be fine. I'll be fine. Don't worry."

"So, she's sorry or something?" Bloo hopped up on the counter, laying his arms across his formless knees.

"Yeah, well, that's what she said. She wants to meet me on Monday, or something. To talk."

"Are you going to go?"

"I guess I should. You know, she really guilted me into this: I'm dying of cancer, your daddy has never seen you, blah blah blah."

Bloo laughed a little. "Man, you're kind of harsh."

"Bloo! I'm harsh? Remember what she did to me? She disowned me! You don't go _back _on disowning your kid! It's just over and done with. She shouldn't even get a second chance, she shouldn't…" he clenched his fists and shook his head.

Bloo began to grab plates and large bowls to set the finished pasta in. Mac snatched up a strainer and headed over to the sink. He strained the finished spaghetti, which was heavy on his arms. He feebly shook it until Bloo pushed him out of the way and took over for him.

"And if she wanted to start this drama, why couldn't she have done it ten years ago? When I didn't have a son to worry about. I mean, think about it, Bloo! She wants to become involved in my life, and then I have to tell her all about that!"

"She probably knows we were broken up," Bloo said as he shook out the strainer. "You know, people reported on that…"

"No, I mean Junior!" Mac hissed. "She never knew that I was pregnant. Now I have to say it! 'Hi Mom, I ran away to Europe and somehow magically had a baby. Here he is, your grandson.'"

"That's _if _you guys make up, Mac," Bloo responded. "So, re-_lax._ You don't have to give her an answer tonight, do you?"

"No," Mac muttered begrudgingly.

"Then worry about other things."

"Like what?"

"Like making a baby with me tonight," Bloo answered with a sly wink.

Mac blushed, incredulous.

"And what makes you think I'll do that?" he asked, dumping the spaghetti sauce in a pot to boil.

"Because you _love _me. And somewhere within your subconscious there is a part of you that wants another baby."

Mac scoffed and laughed at this. "Still not too sure…"

"Well why can't we just _try _to see if anything happens? If you feel weird or something?"

"Because I'm not sure that I want a baby yet, Bloo!" Mac retorted with a snap, now angry. "It's a baby, not a pet goldfish!"

"I already picked out the room for it and everything."

"What…?" Mac shook his head.

"The room where all the scribbles used to be," Bloo said eagerly, coming up behind Mac. "Can you believe it? It's been unused for _years _and if we renovate it, we could make it a nice little nursery that's close by to our room—"

"—Bloo!" Mac stopped him, throwing up his hands in the air. "While that is great and all…"

"Yes?"

"While it's great and all, I'm still focused on other things: our son is going to be going into middle school, the money issues, not to mention how the procedure that I have to go through could affect the said baby…"

"Well Junior turned out alright."

"Junior was something we were lucky with!"

"That's right. I'm your lucky charm."

"Junior!" the two yelled, and the two whipped around to see their son standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

Junior had his arms crossed. In one hand he held an apple that he had taken a fresh bite out of. His face was sweaty and his knees looked banged up like he had been playing b-ball with Wilt.

"So. You guys _were _thinking about having another baby." He pulled up a stool and sat at the island counter, staring at the surface.

"Well…" Mac fumbled with the dials on the oven, "m-maybe. We still haven't decided yet. And what do you mean…?"

"Willow said it. She thought something had been going on with you guys."

"And where is Willow now?"

"Her mom's boyfriend came by and picked her up. Was really bitchy to her."

"Junior, watch your language," Mac snapped, and Junior held up his hands.

"All I was saying, Dad," he answered, setting down the apple on the counter top. "But, so, what was this about another baby?"

"Your father," Mac replied, jerking his head at Bloo, "thinks that it would be a swell idea. But we're still really unsure about it."

"When were you going to tell me? When you had a bun in the oven?"

"Junior!" Mac cast a glance at Bloo. "Bloo, have you been teaching him this?"

"Uh… Well."

Mac sighed. "No. Of course we were going to talk it out with you, so relax, Mr. Confrontational. You're the first born kid, so… it's a decision that would be affecting the whole family."

"Eh. I don't know." Junior shrugged his shoulders. "I guess if you guys want another baby, you should try for it."

"Wow Junior. That was surprisingly unselfish of you," Mac commented, smiling a bit.

"Hey, come on. I'm going to be going to high school in a few years, and then going to college—I won't be around to have to drive it around to a hockey game or dance recital." Junior laughed.

Mac leaned forward, smiling at his son. He tousled his hair playfully and stared at him with a strong gaze of parental love.

"That's right. Wow. When did you get so old?"

"I'm not old!" Junior protested. "Da-ad, quit messing up my hair!"

"Alright." Mac turned around and handed him a stack of dishes. "Go out and set the table."

Junior grumbled underneath his breath and stuck the apple in his mouth. He mumbled something loudly as he exited through the door to the kitchen. Mac turned around and looked at Bloo with big, somewhat wet eyes.

"Okay. I think I want another baby."

"You guys are thinking about having another baby?"

Wilt walked in through the door, his lanky arms and legs bending as he did so. Mac and Bloo threw up their hands and groaned, then turned their backs to him.

"What?" Wilt asked, confused, his eye rattling. "Oh, Mac, I took care of the laundry that had been left in Gogo's room."

"Thanks Wilt."

"So you guys are seriously thinking about that?"

"Actually, based off of what Mac just said to me," Bloo said with a sly grin, glancing over at Mac, "I think that we're going to go for it."

"No! No, forget what I said."

"Mac, there's no take backs. You threw it up in the air, and let it hang there and enter everyone's brains."

"No, I can take it back!" Mac swatted him. "Who exactly is going to be carrying the baby? That would be me, thank you very much. It's my body, it's my choice."

"My body, my choice," Bloo returned mockingly, rolling his eyes.

Mac removed the boiling spaghetti sauce off of the burner and stirred it a little bit. He then face palmed himself.

"Oh damn it, I forgot the sausage."

"That's a crime." Bloo reached into the fridge and tossed him a package, which Mac caught.

"Thanks."

"No prob." Bloo looked over at Wilt. "So, yeah. We're going to do it."

"No we are not!"

"But you just said…" Bloo groaned and threw up his hands. "Did you not just say when Wilt walked in, 'Okay, I think I want another baby'? I heard you Mac! Those were your exact words!"

"Oh my God…" Mac laughed, embarrassed. He ripped open the package of sausage and dumped it into a frying pan that he sprayed with nonstick cooking mist. "Maybe I was just feeling a little nostalgic."

"Remembering when Junior was a baby?" Wilt asked, smiling as he sat down at the island.

"Yeah. I wonder what happened that made him grow up so much." Mac said, using a fork to push around the sausage and break it apart.

"Time just flies, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it really does," Mac agreed, grinning. "Man. I'm so glad I came back here. Junior wouldn't have been able to have such a good life if he hadn't."

"Hey," Bloo piped up, "that's right! You keep saying there are money issues with having another baby, but you were dirt poor when we had Junior!"

"I suppose that's true," Mac mumbled, now suddenly realizing. "And so were Denise and Reggy…"

Denise and Reggy, a fanta-human couple who were long time friends of Mac and Bloo, had toured Europe with Mac for the cause of human-fanta sexual rights. So, in the earliest stages of Junior's life, they had been present. When Junior was six, the two had moved back to the United States with their own daughter, Jette, when she was four. Mac could still remember the day when he had answered the phone, a little time after he had just gotten back together with Bloo, and Denise had started screaming and crying and then the two had talked about her baby.

Denise and Reggy right now were visiting Nic, another friend of theirs, who was in New York. Their daughter Jette had gone with them, but they were supposed to come back very soon.

"Mac, while you were out, the sausage started to burn."

"What?" Mac gave a small shriek as he saw that some of the pieces now sported blackened rings around their edges. He flicked off the burner and smacked the pan down on a pot holder. He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.

Wilt picked up the pan and carried it out to the dining room table, and an exhausted and slightly miserable Mac followed closely behind.

_Another baby, my mother, my father... what else is going to make my life more confusing?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three **

Junior checked the time on his phone as he stood on the stoop outside his house. He grumbled and slid it back in his pocket. Where were Ronny and Willow? They were supposed to have been here fifteen minutes ago.

"Junior! Yoo-hoo!"

Junior jerked his head up at the sound of the familiar voice, and saw little Jette waving her arms high over the gate. Jette was two years younger than him, in the fourth grade. She was a girl who was rather tall for her age, and had long blond hair that was ratted out and tied into two pigtails. Her skin was a little orange, and glittered because it was always moist and cold, like a fish's. She always was wearing these outfits that were stylish: a mini skirt paired with boots that had an incline in the heel, always with a jacket and a tank top that had some sort of graphic designs with sequins.

Junior had known her ever since he was little, and could never remember a time when Jette wasn't his friend. She was one of those kids who wanted to grow up faster than she could. She was brave and ambitious, and frankly, was the opposite of Willow.

"Jette!" Junior cried out, surprised. "You're back from New York?"

"Just got back last night," Jette said, opening the gate and allowing herself inside. Her boots clicked against the concrete walkway up to the house. "What are you doing today, Junior?"

"Waiting for Willow and Ronny to show up," Junior responded. "We're supposed to be working on our speeches for English class."

"What's it about?"

"The speech? Something about how important family is and how they shaped you, and blah blah blah." Junior shrugged his shoulders. "You know, one of those super sappy projects that unless you got a dead mother or grandmother or whatever, you're not going to be impressing anybody."

"But Junior, you're so smart!" Jette said, a purr in her voice. "You're going to do good no matter what."

"Man, I hope so. Here Jette, why don't we go inside and go up to my room?"

"Sure!"

The two sat cross legged on the floor, sipping from cans of soda. Jette laid across Junior's bed, one leg crossed over the other, stretching it and expanding her toes that were now freed from her boots.

"There's a dance coming up at the end of the year for the sixth graders, right?"

"Yep," Junior answered. "Coming up… next Friday, I think. It's a semi formal. Totally uptight."

"You can bring a date, can't you?"

"Yeah. It's kind of expected. Unless you're a loser," Junior said.

Jette set down her soda and rolled over. She had the demeanor of a Cheshire cat as she looked at him with a glint in her eye.

"So, have you thought about who you're going to ask?"

"Eh. I've gotten a few offers. Miranda Mayflower and Jessica Thompson. They're both pretty cute, but then I'm wondering who Willow's going to be left with."

"Ronny?" Jette suggested, arching a brow.

"No, Ronny's got his eye set on Hannah Walls. So, I'm probably going to end up taking Willow."

"Don't you think that might be a bad idea?"

"No. Why?" Junior arched a brow at her, as he sipped loudly from his can.

"Well…" she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "I mean, Junior, she's human."

"Your point being?"

"You're not."

"Who says I'm not human?"

"Um… Well, think about it this way," she offered to him. "You know how if a kid is born of mixed parentage—like he has a black dad and a white mom—he's usually going to identify himself as one or the other, based off of who he looks like most?"

"I guess."

"So, you look most like your father, Bloo, so it's like you're an imaginary friend… dating a human."

"Once again, Jette, your point?"

"Well, won't people just give you a ton of crap for bringing Willow there?"

Junior paused, and he thought about it seriously.

"I guess…" he drummed his fingertips against the side of the can. "But they've always given me and Willow a ton of crap."

"But if you two were dating, wouldn't that be like total social anarchy?"

"Yeah."

"So why bring Willow? It's your first dance. Don't you want to remember it with a fondness?"

"Jeez, Jette." Junior laughed. "If you want to go or something, why don't you just go out and say it?"

"Oh…" Jette twirled a strand of her hair around one finger. "Oh, Junior, I'm not going to do that. I'm just saying: you can go with one or the other."

"What does that mean?'

"You can either love humans, or you can love imaginary friends."

"Who ever said anything about love, you crazy…" Junior grumbled, gulping down the rest of his soda and crushing the can in his fist. "Jette, I still don't understand what you're getting at."

"Willow's mother!" Jette blurted out, her hands gesturing the sound of her voice. "What I'm trying to say is that she doesn't like you! She doesn't like fanta-human sexuals, does she?"

"Well no. But she hasn't stopped…" Junior trailed off.

Oh. He might not be allowed to even bring Willow to the dance anyways. Her mother had tolerated them being friends, but bringing someone to a dance… wasn't that sort of like a promise? Like, you were dating that person or interested in that person?

Junior tossed the can in his wastebasket with a throw of his hand. He wiped his hands on his jeans and turned back to Jette.

"So you're suggesting that I just go with you?"

"Sure! I'm always available," Jette said cheerily, batting her eyelashes at him as if in an attempt to seduce him.

Junior saw this and he wrinkled his nose and laughed. "Jeez, Jette."

"Willow's a pretty enough girl as it is, anyways. She could find someone else to go with easily. But then again, parties don't really seem to be her scene." Jette stood up and walked over to Junior. "And I for one would be _so _happy to go."

Junior noticed that she was coming rather dangerously close to him. He smiled nervously.

"So…"

"Hey guys!" Ronny threw open the door of the bedroom, bursting in. His freckled face greeted him with his cheerful chipmunk smile. Willow stood behind him, books pressed to her chest.

An awkward silence fell in the room as Ronny and Willow stared at Jette and Junior. Everyone's face went bright red.

"Uh… did we interrupt something?" Ronny asked.

"Yes," Willow said with an icy tinge to her voice as she glared at Jette, "did we?"

"N-nah," Junior protested, laughing. "Look, guys, Jette's back from New York! She came to hang with us. Is that cool?"

"Cool with me," Ronny answered, plopping down on the floor in front of Junior's window and opening up his backpack.

"I don't care," Willow said huffily.

Junior cast a worried look over at Willow. _She is soooooo pissed off. _

All of them (except for Jette) then began to reach into their backpacks and pull out photo albums and start scribbling down notes for their speeches. Every once in a while they would stop and ask each other about an excerpt of theirs, sharing it aloud. Jette laid on the bed and played with a ball that Junior had in a basket in the corner of the room.

Junior sat there, chewing on the end of his pencil. In front of him, his notebook paper had been smudged and erased multiple times as he struggled to come up with a good intro. He couldn't think of anything, and was drawing a total blank, even though he had an assembly line of photos to look at and draw ideas from.

He glanced up at Willow, and when she saw him staring at her, she cast him an icy stare. He gulped and lowered his head. What was she so mad about? Jette? Did she think something had happened?

"I think that we should take a break," Willow volunteered, closing her photo album. "Anybody want a snack?"

"I'll help you out," Junior volunteered, climbing to his feet.

Willow protested sweetly, "No. No, that's okay."

She exited out the door and Ronny stared after her, confused and disappointed. He blinked and looked from Junior to Jette.

"She didn't even ask me what I wanted."

"What did you want?"

"Cookies. Duh."

The four of them spent their time in Junior's bedroom for two more hours, passing around a jar of peanut butter and munching on apple slices. Then when they couldn't take any more homework, they retreated outside to go and play basketball. Wilt wasn't around, but that was okay: they could play a game without him.

Willow and Jette preferred to watch from the sidelines and cheer for them; however they both cheered for Junior. A discouraged Ronny tried to dance and steal the ball from his friend, but Junior was just too good: he swept, dived, snatched, and leaped to slam dunk the ball.

When the sun was setting low on the sky, Jette and Ronny left, saying that they had to go home for dinner. As Willow and Junior waved goodbye from the porch, Willow was casting Junior looks of question.

"What were you and Jette doing?"

"Nothing. Just talking," Junior said, looking over to her. "What have you been so pissed off about all day?"

"It's nothing. Forget it." she picked up her book bag and slung the strap over one of her shoulders. "Are you going to walk me home?"

"Yeah."

They started on the path back towards Willow's mom's house.

"Willow, about the dance next Friday…"

"Yes?" Willow's tone seemed natural, hopeful—the least hostile she had been all day.

"I'm going to be going with Jette. Well, I'm going to ask her."

She stopped in her tracks, and stared up at him. "And why are you telling me this?"

"Because… well. I figured you might have been counting on me to be your date, so I just wanted to let you know ahead of time."

"You _figured_?" she repeated, emotion creeping into her voice. "You mean, you think that I couldn't go with anyone else, but yet you decided to go with Jette anyways?"

"Hey, I was—" Junior protested, but he was caught off by Willow.

"So I _was _walking in on something, and you lied to me," she said, her small little voice rising in pitch as the frustration and hurt began to control her.

"Well come on, Willow. Like your mother is going to let me take you to the dance. You know how she's always been iffy about my dads—"

"My mother isn't going to be making any decisions for me! Junior, are you saying that just because I'm human you wouldn't go with me?"

"Well… um… uh, I guess I'm sort of saying that. But look, it's more you than me."

"What do you mean?" she cried out. "I haven't ever rejected or spoken badly about your dads, or you! Just because my mom is my mom… she's not going to not let me go to the dance with you. She doesn't care! She's too busy with Carl…" she shook her head, and she looked like she was going to cry.

Now Junior was extremely concerned. "Willow, what…"

"You're such a hypocrite! You're the child of a human and an imaginary friend, and yet you don't want to date a human?"

"Hey! Who ever said anything about dating? I never said that. This is just about a dance! One stupid little dance out of all the dances we're going to be going to."

"And you're going to take Jette to each and every one of them," she said in a choked voice. "Junior, Junior, how could you do this?"

She was crying now, weeping into her hands. The tears slipped between her fingers. Junior deflated.

"Willow," he said quietly. "Willow, do you like me or something?"

"Oh my God!" she shrieked, and he jolted, jumping back in surprise. "You are so dense!"

She blushed violently, and he was too. He reached out to grasp her hand but she recoiled.

"No, don't touch me. I'm going home." She turned on her heel and promptly walked away as fast as she could.

Junior stood there stupidly in the sidewalk, watching her go. He kicked at the ground furiously and then ran back home. All sorts of things were swirling around in his mind and he couldn't get them out and he was just so amazingly angsty.

He opened the door and saw his father, Bloo standing there in the front hall, sipping from a juice box.

"I think I'm a terrible person."

He walked up the stairs then without saying another word, and Bloo stared after him.

"Uh. Okay! Good… good job." He confusedly wandered off.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four **

Monday then arrived, and with its arrival came the return of Mac's anxieties. He stood in front of the mirror that early afternoon, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt and vacillating from what he was going to wear. Bloo sat on the bed, watching as his partner bustled around their bedroom like a chicken with its head cut off.

"Mac, give it a rest. I thought you said that you didn't really care."

"I _don't_," Mac retorted. "But I care enough so that I don't look like a slob and she doesn't start complaining about how I don't take good enough care of myself and yadda yadda yadda—"

"—Mac, baby, relax." Bloo jumped up and gave his waist a squeeze. "I mean, seriously? You should actually try to look like you don't take care of herself, so then she's forced to accept you as you are."

"Thanks, Bloo." Mac mumbled as Bloo gave him a kiss on the neck.

"No problem. Hey, you ready to go? We have to walk down to the café, right?"

"Yeah." Mac sighed. "Let's go."

They walked out of their room and down the stairs, and as they passed by Wilt, Mac told him what had to be done. Then they crossed the porch, down the steps, and out of the yard onto the sidewalk. Continuing to walk along, Bloo reached out for Mac's hand and grabbed it.

"Hey." He raised his eyelids at Mac, cockily grinning at him.

"Hey what?" Mac looked over at him, confused.

"We're holding hands in public. Your mom is going to get a kick out of that."

Mac laughed, hiding his face against Bloo's side. He blushed and smiled.

"We're going to a little coffee place. On the corner, a ways from Junior's school."

"Speaking of which, where is our kid today?"

"I think he told me that he was heading over to Ronny's."

"Not Willow?"

"No…" Mac trailed off, his brow knitting in confusion. "Come to think of it that's strange. He usually always is at her place."

"Maybe Caren's new boyfriend doesn't like him," Bloo mumbled to him.

"Oh. You know what, she really ought to stop dating douchebags."

"Says you."

Mac gave Bloo a shove and the two laughed hysterically. They tripped their way across the crosswalk and arrived at the store. Bloo opened the door and walked in, then shut and held it, preventing Mac from entering.

"Bloo!" Mac yelled out, laughing as he grabbed the door and wrenched it open. "What are you, twelve?"

"Well I don't know, baby, shouldn't you know that better than me?"

The two smiled at each other and then examined the room. Mac searched for the small shaved head in the crowd and then saw the back of his mother, off to the right of the shop. She sat by a window with an oversized tea cup of coffee, across from a strange, shadowy man.

Mac gulped, and then all at once, remembered what he was here for. Warily he approached the table, keeping his head lowered so as to avoid direct confrontation with his father. His mother turned around and smiled at him, but as soon as she saw that Bloo was following, she frowned. Disappointment creased her face.

"Why is he here?" she asked in a dry, un-amused tone.

Bloo sneered at her as he sat down. Mac gently placed a hand on Bloo's shoulder to let him know it was alright. He turned his head and calmly spoke to his mother, "Deal with it. He's my partner."

"Partner," she mumbled, rubbing her coffee cup between her hands.

The craggy man with the messy face arched his eyebrows. Mac glanced over and then quickly averted his eyes. He felt like he was going to be burned by his father's gaze, it seemed so intense. Bloo was flipping through the menu and Mac glanced down at his, fidgeting around. The table was awkwardly silent. When Mac looked over at his father again, he noticed that he was wearing an old, dusty looking suit: the same suit that he had probably worn in court that day. Mac was so little, he could barely remember looking over the pews and staring at his father's guilty face at the witness stand.

"Okay, seriously?" Mac asked, raising his head. "So, what did you need again?"

"You remember very well, Mac," his mother responded. "Your father and I want to form a relationship of you."

Mac set down his menu. His mouth was in a firm, concrete line. "I think that you like the idea of that, but…" his eyes narrowed. "You won't even accept the most basic aspects of my life. That I live and work at Foster's. That I'm gay and a fanta-sexual."

His mother rolled her eyes but Mac's dad remained silent. Mac sighed heavily.

"Look, given the circumstances of my life, I really can't involve either of you."

"Oh, really?" his mother replied bitterly. "And just what circumstances do you have that prevent you from family?"

Mac flushed, his son's face flashing through his head. He shook his head, and swallowed. He had to think very carefully about how to say this.

"I… I have a son."

His parents stared at him with stark, wide eyes. His mother seemed angrier now.

"Oh I know what you're talking about," she snapped.

"What is he talking about?" his father grumbled, looking over at her.

"That blue thing," she responded. "I saw him."

"You… you saw him?"

"Walking across the front yard with a basketball and a girl the day that I was there—that was him, wasn't it? Your 'son?'" she said, putting air quotations around the last word.

She crossed her arms and scoffed, rolling her eyes. "He's an imaginary friend."

"Er… I suppose. His father is too."

"I had no idea that you would go so far as to 'imagine' a child of yours and Bloo's."

Mac trembled with anger. "I did _not_—!"

But just as he was about to continue with his protest, Bloo placed a hand on his shoulder as if to say, _No. Don't tell her. Just let it go. _

Mac understood Bloo. He cleared his throat and addressed his mother.

"My son is very well taken care of. It doesn't matter how he got here. It matters who is in his life." Mac cast his father a wary look. "And I only want to be good influences."

"'Cause I'm bad enough as it is," Bloo declared, leaning back in his seat and grinning triumphantly.

"Mac, you're being ridiculous," his mother urged. "You're writing us off. But yet you bothered to show up."

"You wrote _me _off, Mot—" he stopped and corrected himself, "—Margaret, when you told me to get the hell out of your house and never come back. And I did. So why the hell did you put yourself in mine?"

Margaret choked up and she gazed at her son with a stare of pure agony. Her grey eyes became wet. She lowered her head and stared in defeat at her lap. Mac's father made no move to comfort her: they were divorced, so he must not have felt like he had to. The waitress came by and took their orders, but only Bloo and Mac's father requested for sandwiches and the soup special. Mac and Margaret both insisted that they were not hungry. Mac felt like he had been punched in the stomach, as he sat there, the memories flashing back through his mind, and as he relived all of it. How could he eat?

When the waitress left, Margaret pulled herself together again and spoke to her son.

"Because I'm _dying_, Mac. And I regret some of the things I did—"

"—You should regret _all _of it. How dare you call yourself my mother, when you were never around? When you told me to give up on my best friend, and then expect me to fend for myself? When you slammed that door in my face?"

Mac's voice rattled and cracked as astounding tears entered his voice. Bloo cast a quick look of concern and glared at Margaret as if to reprimand her. Margaret, her body stiff and sharp like a pencil, marched off to the bathroom. It had been the end of round one, apparently. Mac's father sipped from his Coke, and he looked away from the scene as if to give his son some privacy.

Mac snatched napkins off of the table and pressed them to his eyes. Then his father, who had been sitting ever so patiently, now spoke to him.

"You know, I bet it was hard raising you two boys," he said as he began to fiddle with the teensy pepper packets. "You were just a tot, so you probably don't remember me all too much, Mac."

"I don't know you at all," Mac sighed, shaking his hea.

"And I'd like to know you. My name's Gary," he replied, offering his hand to his son.

Curious, Mac shook his father's hand. He retracted his own and set it in his lap.

"Seems like you're the one I can get to know."

Mac rolled his eyes, scoffed and laughed in disbelief.

"Oh my God. That's the problem with you and my mother. You think that since your first son turned out to be for shit, you can just fall back on me." He smacked his hand on the table and a sharp glint twitched in his eyes as he looked at his father. "And the two of you have no idea how fucked up things got for me, nor do you _care_."

Gary frowned. "If I didn't care, why am I here, Mac?"

Mac faltered, his mouth open. He found he could not think of a reason.

"Look. I'm pretty different from your mother. Whatever's going on in your sex life, what the hell do I care?" he exhaled as he pushed back from the table, rocking on the chair. "Fuck. I haven't seen you since you were three and your mom is sitting there bitchin' about how you live your life. How I lived _mine_." He shook his head.

"Why did you do it, Da… Gary." Mac once again had to correct himself.

"I was a drug addict," he replied, shrugging. "And it made us good money, till that kid I was selling to…" he shook his head again. "Nah, it ain't important."

Mac's mother then returned, purse in hand. She turned to Mac as she sat down.

"Did you order?" she asked disdainfully, with a sniff.

"Nah. Waitress hasn't come back. Service here sucks," Gary answered for him.

Mac surveyed his parents. Two stark contrasts to each other: burnout and business. Ragged and spruced. Regretful and angry. How had these two ever met and fallen in love? Gotten married? What could have possessed his mother?

"Mac. Let me just say this. Whatever's been in your past, let's push it aside and try to get along. You don't have to think of me as your mother, but at least I don't have to die without… unsolved business."

_Business. Always business. _Mac thought as he quickly checked his watch. 2:30. Junior's school usually got out around this time, but occasionally, Junior would be given detention for blowing spit wads in class or spending extra time outside during recess.

But apparently nothing was going to grace his wishes today, because he saw his son, accompanied by Ronnie, in the window. Their faces pressed up against the glass and they made faces, laughing and joking. Mac flushed and buried his face in his hands. He groaned.

Junior and Ronnie headed inside the café and darted over to the table in a flash. Margaret and Gary looked rather alarmed when the little blue friend (who unbeknownst to them was their actual blood grandchild) pulled up a chair and sat alongside his father.

"So, you don't have detention today?" Mac asked in a grumble, propping his chin up against his hand.

"I skipped it."

Mac rolled his eyes.

"Hey! Come on, I'm in a fight with one of my best friends. I think that gives me a license to act out."

"It gives you a license to get grounded," Mac said in response, warningly glaring at his son.

Ronnie looked confused. "Wait a minute, Junior. We're fighting?"

"No, you dope! With Willow," Junior responded, rolling his eyes.

Junior then turned to his dads and gave each of them a grin. "Dads, what's up?"

Mac tousled his son's hair and smiled. That wonderful smile of his son's always got him in a better mood.

"Da-ad!" Junior then whined and Mac and Bloo both laughed.

"What are you and Ronnie up to?"

"We were going to head back to the house to work on that dumb speech for English class."

"You're making progress on it?"

"Eh.." Junior laid his hand horizontally and waved it from side to side. "Kind of."

"Well, that's a huge part of your grade. Please do well on it."

"Dad! Jeez, of course I will."

Junior then turned his attention to Margaret and Gary, who had sat there silently, astounded and blinking. Mac noticed his parents' faces and felt his blood run cold. Could they see the resemblance of him in his son? It wasn't too hard to see. And Junior, would he realize who they were? As far as Mac knew, Junior had no idea that these were his grandparents.

"Lady, are you a tax collector?" Junior asked Margaret, gesturing to her professional attire with a nod of his head.

"No," she answered crisply, trying her best to keep smiling. "No, I'm a financial consultant at a law firm."

"Ooh. Boring job," Junior said with a chuckle, relaxing his body.

"Junior, don't be rude." Mac found he was embarrassed by his son's behavior, even though he kept on telling himself he didn't care what his parents thought.

"Who are you?"

"I'm your creator's mother."

Oh no. Mac paled as he watched the horrendous scene fold out before him. Confused, Junior shook his head and stared back at the woman.

"Um… excuse me? I'm his son."

"Well, yes, of course you are. He imagined you."

"Uh, lady, you don't know the whole—"

Mac clapped a hand over Junior's mouth and laughed nervously. Junior glared at his dad and mumbled aggressively into his father's palm but Mac begged him with his eyes. Junior, still perplexed by the situation, cast a glance at Ronnie, who was dazzlingly entertained by the whole spectacle. But Ronnie too, had no idea what was going on, and he shrugged as well.

"My son. Yes. My son."

"Yeah, he really is," Ronny then blurted out. "There's pictures and everything."

Bloo and Mac both hung their heads as they equally thought, _Oh shit. _

Margaret frowned. "Pictures of what?" she looked towards Mac.

"When…" Ronnie trailed off. "Um. Whoops."

Mac, his face red, stood up. He placed an arm around both boys and drew them upwards out of their seats.

"Look, I gotta go home. These little kids—" Mac squeezed their shoulders tensely, "—need someone to watch over them at the house. And without Frankie there, my work is piling up for me."

Mac started to steer the boys towards the door. Bloo remained where he was seated.

"Wait! Mac," his mother cried out in frustration.

She stood up and looked impatiently out towards her son, who kept moving towards the door.

"Mac, I didn't get my sandwich yet!"

"Bloo, we got to go," Mac said through gritted teeth. He glanced up at his mother. "Margaret, you know where to find me. Sorry about this. Gimme a call."

They then all exited onto the street. Junior gazed at his dad in disbelief.

"Dad, what the hell is your problem?"

"Language," Mac reprimanded, holding up a finger. "And hey, what did I say about telling people that I was pregnant with you?"

"That it'll alert the media?"

"Exactly. Don't alert the media." Mac wiped a hand across his forehead. "It's bad enough as it is that Willow and Ronnie know."

"Hey!" Ronnie cried out in protest, hurt. "I'm a good secret keeper!"

"Says the kid who said, 'There's photos,'" Bloo chimed in, laughing as he clapped Ronnie on the back.

Mac gazed at his partner with steely eyes as Bloo hooted and keeled over in laughter.

"It's not funny, Bloo!"

They all started walking down the sidewalk back towards Foster's. Mac shoved his hands in his pockets and found that his nerves were nowhere even close to calming down. Junior glanced up at his dad.

"Dad. Who was that woman?"

They crossed the street together and Mac remained silent. He shook his head.

"It's not important."

"She said that she was your mother," Junior pressed, almost urgent. "Dad, was that Grandma?"

"She is _not _your grandmother!" Mac replied heatedly. "Don't call her that!"

Bloo placed an arm around Mac's waist. In an intense silence, the four of them walked back to Foster's and headed inside. Junior and Ronnie sprinted off to do whatever it was they wanted to do. Mac retreated to the parlor with the room full of clocks. He flopped down on the white sofa in exhaustion.

"Great. So now he knows," Mac said to Bloo.

"He finds out things. He's good at being nosy." Bloo came and sat down beside Mac. "Don't worry about it. He's not going to do anything."

Mac looked up at Bloo with sad eyes. Bloo narrowed his eyes. Mac swallowed, shaking his head. He looked so small, and scared and stressed.

"Bloo. What the hell am I going to do?" he asked hoarsely. "I don't want her back, but on the other hand I'm denying our son a chance to get to know his grandparents. To know where he came from."

He sat upright. Bloo shrugged his shoulders.

"Is it really that important?"

Mac sighed heavily and placed a hand over his mouth. He looked at Bloo. "Do you remember, when he was in the third grade, and he had to make a family tree project?"

"Yeah."

"And he came home and it only had a bunch of flowers filled out, you and me, and Frankie and Wilt and Ed, and then when he turned it in… the teacher gave him a bad grade because she said that those people weren't related to us at all?"

"Yeah. I remember that bitch."

"But he was _so _sad that day Bloo. He came home and just cried and cried."

"What's your point?"

"I… I don't know." Mac exhaled. "I just think… maybe it'd be right, for him to know them."

"Well…" Bloo leaned back. "You know, if she really wants to be involved in your life, maybe you should… invite her over to Foster's."

"Here?" Mac cried out.

"Yeah. Maybe tonight, for dinner or something."

"Oh…" Mac placed his knuckles against his mouth.

Bloo arched a brow at him. "Hey. You did promise her lunch and ducked out on it, Mommy-Man."

"Don't call me that." Mac playfully slugged Bloo in the shoulder.

Bloo responded by kissing Mac forcefully. Mac smiled and kissed him back, sweetly.

"Okay, okay. I think that's an alright idea. I'll invite her over tonight for dinner."

"And after…" Bloo smiled smugly.

Mac stood up, laughed, and dialed his mother's cell phone number. After a brief conversation on the phone, Mac arranged to have her and Gary over for dinner tonight. When he hung up, he felt strangely relieved. He felt like inviting her to Foster's was a way of getting everything out in the open.

"Frankie would roll if she knew I was doing this."

"Frankie would roll at a few things," Bloo said. "Like, we're having another baby."

"Maybe," Mac corrected him, crossing his arms. "Bloo, it's not like it's a guarantee."

"Did you talk to your doctor?"

"Dr. Crawson? Yeah." Mac sat back down on the couch beside him. "She said that any regular pregnancy test should do. That I should just take the test when I show symptoms."

"What symptoms? Mac, did you start having a period?"

Mac swatted him with a chuckle. "No, stupid! If I started gaining weight or feeling really groggy, then I should…"

Mac trailed off and abruptly stopped. Uh oh.

"Mac? What's wrong?"

"Well… I mean, I've been feeling pretty groggy lately. It could have just been because of Frankie leaving, though, but…"

Bloo was beaming. "Ha! It's already happened?"

"Oh probably not. I mean, come on. Friday was the first time we…"

"Something could have broken."

"Bloo, if you say that a condom broke and didn't tell me about it, I am going to punch you in the face."

"Well I wouldn't have known about it!" Bloo held up his hands innocently. "I'm just spit-balling here, same as you."

"Ugh." Mac ran a hand through his hair and waved them around. "But I didn't really feel groggy when I was pregnant with Junior. The first thing I noticed was that I was eating and drinking stuff constantly."

"Maybe it's just different because you're older. It's taking more of a toll on you or something."

Mac squeezed his body slightly. "The other thing I noticed was that I was… really moody, like I guess I am now. But then again, I had broken up with you at that time."

"Mac. Let's face it. You're pregnant."

"I'm not pregnant until I take the test," Mac protested. "But I'm not going to deal with that tonight. I'm just not going to."

He said this so easily but Bloo knew that it would be at the back of his mind all night. Mac climbed to his feet and brushed off his hands as if to clap off dust.

"I've got a dinner to make."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five **

Mac removed the bandana that he had tied around his hair. Crossing his arms, he examined the dining room table that extended out before him. Crisp, white nice tablecloth set for tonight? Check. Absolutely amazing painstakingly made dinner? Also a check. All that was left was for a few helping hands to set the table and then that would be a check as well.

With the checkered bandana he wiped off the sweat that was caused from steam rising on his face, and he raced up the stairs into his bedroom. Satisfaction seemed to seep through every one of his pores (of course that could have also been the sweat) and it seemed to give him a boost of confidence.

He quickly changed out of his red t-shirt into a button up white polo and a pair of khaki pants, which he equipped with a nice belt. He fussed with his hair which had become messy, and applied more cologne to his neck.

"Hey. Can Denise and Reggy come over for dinner tonight?"

"Well… I'd have to think about it."

"Uh, well, they're here."

Mac's eyes widened and then he heard Denise's shrill shriek of laughter behind him. Her arms threw themselves around his neck and pulled him in close for a hug.

"Did ya miss me, Mac Attack?"

"Denise! Wow, what a surprise." Denise always had a habit and love for all things spontaneous… and more than not, inconvenient.

Denise released him from her grip. She had curled her deliciously blonde hair all messily, and it framed her heart shaped face. Beside Bloo, in the doorway, stood Reggy, her imaginary friend and also her self-proclaimed but not legal husband. He was a fish like man, with scales the color of a burgundy.

"I brought Jette over too," Denise said, rubbing Mac's arm. "She went to go and hang out with Junior and Ronnie in his room."

"Oh okay. Cool." Mac nodded in an easy going manner. "Yeah, well, dinner should be ready pretty quick."

He nodded to Reggy and Bloo. "You guys head on down. We'll catch up in a minute."

Bloo and Reggy agreed and obediently trailed down the stairs in search of hot food like a pair of sheep. Mac rushed forward and shut the door.

"Oh my God, Denise, you have no idea how happy I am to have you back!"

"Aww. Did you miss me that much? I'll have you know I'm a married woman," Denise said sarcastically, but she was giggling all the same.

"No, Dee, things have gotten so screwed up."

Denise blinked. "What? I was only gone for a few weeks, Mac. How could things have fallen apart so quickly?"

Mac sat down on the bed beside her as she pulled out a nail file and started to do her nails.

"Well go ahead sugar. Tell me everything."

He then started on the long explanation of where his anxieties had started: with Frankie leaving with Vince and her kids to go visit her in laws. Then he brought up the conversations that he had had with Bloo, and then finally his parents.

"Your mother? And your dad?" Denise shrieked softly. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No I am not." Mac shook his head. He sighed. "It's just been so stressful, Dee. I feel like I'm treading in water and I'm up to my chin. I'm going to be so glad when Frankie's back. Maybe then I'll feel like things will be back to normal."

"Oh Mac, maybe this isn't going to be as bad as you think it will be." She patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Besides, this should be a happy time for you! Another baby? That's so great! Sweetie, you're in your mid thirties. This is like, one of your last chances to have a baby before you're as old as a fart."

Mac chuckled. "Oh my God. I'm thirty four."

"Yes honey. Welcome to reality."

She opened the door. "Now get your toochus downstairs. I think I heard the door bell ring."

Mac started to head out the door and Denise arched a brow at him.

"Put your game face on, baby!"

Mac found that Margaret and Gary had just arrived. Both were casually removing their jackets, looking out of place. Dinner hour was the most intense rush hour of the house: imaginary friends of all shapes, sizes and colors were dashing by them down the hallway in a flourish. Bewildered, Mac saw his parents stand there erect, looking slightly terrified at all that was going on. Wilt, who had been the one to open the door for them, took their coats and soothingly tried to coax them.

"Margaret, Gary," Mac said as he descended the stairs with Denise. "Hello."

Both nodded to their son. Just then Junior came stampeding down the stairs with Ronnie and Jette. Ronnie was awkwardly trying to pull his backpack on as he hurried to the door.

"Hey Dad," Junior called out.

"Hello," Mac answered, turning around to face them. "Ronnie, are you going to be staying for dinner tonight?"

"Sorry, Mr. E," Ronnie said, "but my mom said that I had to be home for dinner tonight because I got to watch my little brother and sister. But I'll take a rain check!"

"Any time, Ronnie." Mac smiled. "Thanks for coming over."

"Thanks for having me!" Ronnie called out over his shoulder as he headed out the door. "See you at school tomorrow Junior!"

"See you," Junior responded, and he seemed to be grumbling.

Mac cast a curious look at his son, but made note of it to talk to him later. He addressed his parents once more and with all of them together, guided them into the dining hall. Most of them had taken their seats. Frankie's seat at the head of the table had respectfully remained empty. The big chandelier had been lit and was dimmed for a suitable dinner hour. Mac found his seat next to Bloo, who was sitting by Ronnie. Junior took his seat next to Mac, and Mac's parents humbly sat down next to their grandson. Jette removed a chair and forcefully squeezed in beside Junior, while Denise snuggled up next to Reggy.

Then the food started to be passed around. Tonight was casserole night, where Mac combined most of the leftovers into an edible casserole, and then served it with some other things: soups, chili, bowls full of fruits and vegetables. Everything was pleasantly arranged and looked as neat as he had left it.

Bloo of course helped himself first to a portion and then ladled Mac out an equally hefty portion. Mac rolled his eyes and passed the bowl to Junior, who begrudgingly put some of the yellow-white casserole on his plate. He then piled on the veggies and fruits and sipped from a glass of water that he had while listening to Jette jabber on and on.

The friends began to eat and the dining hall was filled with loud incessant chatter. It usually dulled down halfway through the meal, enough so that one could have a decent conversation with another person.

"Well Mac, I'm impressed," Margaret commented to her son. "You have to feed all of these friends?"

"Each and every one of them," Mac answered as he gulped down some of his water. "It takes like, an hour and a half to prepare dinner every night."

"And the dishes must be an atrocious job to do…"

"Well, I've got friends that help me out with that."

Gary chewed on some of the casserole and nodded appreciatively. He looked at his son. "This is a damn good casserole."

"Wow. Um, thanks," Mac said, smiling thinly.

Bloo reached under the table and gave Mac's knee a squeeze. Mac smiled and looked at Bloo directly as if to let him know that he was calm.

"Whatever happened to working as a social worker?"

"A social worker?" Junior chimed in. "Dad has never been a social worker."

"Yes I was," Mac said. "When you were a bab…" he abruptly stopped himself and smiled nervously. "I mean, you must have been too little to remember."

"I was a baby, you mean?" Junior arched a brow quizzically and gazed at his father dryly.

Margaret frowned. "A baby?"

Denise and Reggy both looked at Mac with concern. Mac felt his heart thud against his chest.

"Yes. Well, a baby." Mac tensely halved some of his casserole with a fork. "Yeah."

"You're acting really weird, Dad," Junior muttered underneath his breath in a low voice, grabbing a sautéed apple with his fork and biting into it.

"A baby?" Margaret exclaimed. "You mean to tell me that he aged?"

"Bloo has aged too, Mother," Mac said, looking up at her. "I can't believe you haven't noticed it.'

"What? But he's a blob and he's blue. The same as always."

"He's gotten taller. Like, way taller."

"Oh," Margaret said, surprise sinking into her voice. "Oh, now I see! How odd."

Bloo chuckled at the tone of her voice. _"How odd."Yes, how odd of me to age. _

"_Anyway_," Mac said sharply, changing the subject, "when I came back to the United States with Junior, I got a job as a social worker for a middle school, which I stuck with for a couple of years until taking care of the house had to become my number one priority."

"And why was that?"

"The President of the house… Mr. Herriman, he was getting sicker and sicker the older that he got. Frankie needed someone to help her out with the chores on a more day to day basis rather than weekends."

"So you own the house?"

"Uh, yes, technically. Madame Foster included me in her will, so I own half of the house and the fortune." Mac ruffled Junior's hair and smiled proudly. "And one day this kid will have it too."

Margaret lowered her eyelids coolly and patted her mouth with a napkin. "That is, if you can get a lawyer to arrange _that _for you."

Mac restrained himself by smiling as broadly as he could and continued to eat his dinner. Gary made occasional comments about how good the food was. Inside his head Mac was surveying the scene and just pacing back and forth.

_Okay, _Mac said halfway through the meal, once friendly conversations had picked up, _so we can be relatively civil to each other. But it's such a delicate situation. I'm dancing around the topic of my pregnancy as fast as I can, and yet I can't get away from it. _

Mac suddenly then belched and he placed a hand over his mouth, bewildered by the sound that he had made.

"Uh, I'm sorry, excuse me."

Everyone who had been staring at him cracked up. They hooted with laughter and Mac's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but he was still calm. It was at that moment when the rest of the evening began to go smoothly. There were no biting questions or arm-twisting remarks; no need to dance around anything. The invisible walls that had separated Mac from his parents were now, brick by brick, slowly being broken down into something accessible.

When dinner ended Mac rounded up a couple of the friends, as well as Junior and Jette, and got them to pick up the dishes and carry them into the kitchen. Wilt, being the ever so helpful friend that he was, offered to help clean up the dishes and Eduardo assisted him. Junior and Jette then took off to do whatever.

Mac then guided his parents and friends into the clock parlor, where they sat and chatted and continued to be docile towards one another. Mac noticed that his mother was sitting close to his father in an almost overly friendly manner. It seemed that while they were still divorced, she had an attachment of a sort to him. First, Mac thought that was nice…

And then he realized again that his mother was dying.

His mother's laughter drew him out of his thoughts and he jerked his head up to see her. She ran a hand over her grazed hair and laughed some more. Like her personality, her laugh was an assertive one: loud and commanding of others' attention.

"Mac, though, honestly…" she said, trying to control herself as she smoothed out her skirt, "what is the story behind Junior?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean," she said, looking at her son with an unknowing expression, "you always seem to dance around the topic of him. What's going on there?"

She was still smiling, still good natured. He could tell she didn't suspect anything much more than one day, he had imagined his son. If it had only been that simple!

"Um…" Mac began, but faltered as his palms started to sweat. He could feel the eyes of Denise, Reggy and Bloo on him as he started to ease into honesty.

"I left for Europe, and shortly after, found out that I was pregnant."

Bloo threw his hands up in the air and Denise gasped loudly, clapping a hand over her mouth. The truth was like dropping a bomb in the center of the room. But after she asked her question, he couldn't just dance around it some more. She would figure out the truth eventually…

Margaret frowned. "What do you mean, 'pregnant?'"

"Yeah, Mom. I got pregnant. It was a total accident."

She threw back her head and laughed outrageously. Mac swallowed then, his heart growing cold. Was she serious? She should have known that he wasn't the type to kid about such serious things. But Gary seemed to see through what he was saying, and was grasping the truth of it. He looked absolutely petrified. Margaret caught on that no one was laughing with her, and perplexed, she glanced over at her son. Mac's eyes were focused on the floor and he was refusing to make eye contact with her.

"Mac." Her voice now trembled slightly as she spoke. "What do you mean, pregnant?"

"That's what Ronnie was saying. There's p-pictures."

"Mac," Denise hissed worriedly, leaning forward to stare at her friend. She shook her head repeatedly. "Mac, you shouldn't have to do this."

Mac stood up and went over to a wardrobe in the corner of the room. He opened one of the drawers by pulling on the loose knobs and drawing them forward, rusty wheels squeaking as he did so. He withdrew the album that he had the pictures contained in, and then approached his mother. He extended the album to her firmly and she took it. Margaret was slightly horrified as she opened the cover and probably saw a picture of him with a solidly round belly.

"How…?"

"We don't really know what happened, Mom. They think I could have imagined a little bit of it, and then my body just… responded to my thoughts. I was diagnosed at around three months along, and I had been gaining weight and having morning sickness…"

She raised her head. "Did you call me 'Mom?'"

Mac swallowed. "I suppose I did."

She lowered her head and began flipping through the pages again, shaking her head in disbelief. She pressed her fingers to her temples and massaged them.

"So… I carried Junior till I was six months along and then they did a C-section and took him out. They put him in a… well, actually I don't know what it was. But they finished growing him and then removed him from it, and gave me my baby."

"Such sci… fi…" his mother grumbled.

"What?"

"Sci fi bullshit," she snapped in a dark, hard tone.

"Well, it happened. And we tested his genetics: he's not an imaginary friend. He's got parents: me and Bloo."

"Way to drop the shit bomb Mac," Bloo said, giving him a thumbs up.

"I couldn't just keep lying," Mac told him. "I mean, come on, I was already pretty suspicious…"

"This is impossible."

"It's really not, Mrs. E," Denise offered, raising her hand. "Reggy and I, we conceived her. She's our baby. 'Course, I had a more orthodox pregnancy than Mac's."

A silence fell over the room. Margaret appeared to be fuming. Gary just sat there stupidly, with an empty look in his eyes. The petrified expression had now melted away.

"Mom." Mac said quietly, focusing on his mother. "Mom, this is my life. This is what's happening, and what has happened. Mom, you had to know, if you want to be in my life."

"By the laws of God and nature, that child should not even be alive," she cried out, lurching to her feet.

"Mom!"

Emotionally she glared at her son. "I knew this whole relationship that you had with Bloo was sick! Sick and twisted!"

"Margaret," Gary said firmly, standing up and grabbing her arm. "Margaret, that's enough."

"No!" Margaret screamed then. "I had warned him about this! I knew that this was unnatural! But you went along with it and had a bastard child!"

"A bastard child?" Mac cried out, narrowing his eyes. "Is that what you're really upset about? That we had a baby out of wedlock? I never knew you were such a so called religious-"

"The whole thing! I'm upset about the whole thing!"

Mac swallowed. "I could have aborted him. I could have very well done it. But I didn't _want _to, Mom. Because…" Mac rubbed his arm, self conscious. "…I loved Bloo. And as I loved Bloo, I loved this baby. I love my son."

"Oh my God," Margaret said, disgusted. "He's a freak of nature."

Mac narrowed his eyes and stood on his feet. Anger trembled in his body. "I gave you what you wanted, Mom. I gave you the truth. I told you what had happened to me, and you can't throw that back at me. You can reject me, and hell, you can even reject Bloo all you want, but I'll be damned if I let that happen to my son."

"He's unnatural—"

"—He is my _son_!" Mac screamed at her now. "And if you are going to stand here in my house and say that he is unnatural and a freak, then I'm going to kick you out!"

"Oh believe me," Margaret snarled, "I'm done with the freak show. I've had about as much as I could stomach."

The disturbed little party moved back out to the foyer. A few imaginary friends had gathered around to watch the showdown. Wilt stood nervously by the coat stand.

"I guess I was wrong," Margaret said as she snatched her coat, not allowing Wilt to help her. "I don't know what I was thinking in coming here. You're just as screwed up as your brother, except instead of doing drugs and getting thrown in the slammer, _you _are gay, and get pregnant."

"Who is to blame for that, Mom?" Mac said softly.

"Maybe I should have just never been a mother," she responded venomously.

"You know, maybe you shouldn't have been. You kept talking to me about acceptance and love and forming a bond with me, but…" the tears flooded in Mac's eyes. "Whenever I'm around you I'm always rejected. I didn't need you to say it to me now, or slam a door in my face, I had always known that your love for me came conditionally. So to both of you, congratulations, because I'm done."

Gary looked at his son with wide concerned eyes. "Mac—"

"No! I don't want to deal with it anymore. I've swallowed as much of it as I can."

Hurt, Gary allowed Wilt to hand him down his coat. Margaret had already stomped out the door and fled for the hills. Gary took one last look at his son before he plunged out into the inky night. The door slammed shut and Mac buckle underneath him. Bloo grabbed him just before he hit the floor.

"Mac!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six **

Mac had been experiencing a terrible nightmare. He had been a little boy wandering through the apartment complex that he had grown up in. The apartment had been dark and dank, and he remembered having to feel for the walls and furniture with his hands. And though he had been calling out for help, he hadn't been able to find anyone. He had been lost. Perhaps now, whenever he was around his family, he was still a little lost.

When he woke up, however, and saw the familiar wallpaper, he knew that he was at Foster's. Relief flooded through his body. He was lying in his bed, and he looked up to see Bloo standing over him.

"Mac. You passed out."

"I passed out?" he repeated dumbly.

"Yeah. You've got a really high fever."

Mac suddenly felt how hot and achy his head seemed. It throbbed. Every part of his body was exhausted but his mind: his thoughts were racing.

"I'm sorry, Mac."

"Why are you apologizing?"

Bloo sighed. "Just for the sake of apologizing."

Mac felt touched. Random acts of kindness weren't really associated with Bloo's personality. "Oh Bloo… it's not your fault."

"I know it's not my fault! I'm just saying, I'm sorry that you got stuck with a crappy pair of parents."

"Well, that's just how the cookie crumbles, I guess…" Mac shrugged his shoulders. "Man. I didn't realize I was working so hard."

"You didn't get a fever because you were working too hard; you just weren't working efficiently."

"Thanks, Bloo."

"I would have just gotten the friends to do my chores."

"I know, Bloo."

Bloo rubbed the back of his head. "So, Denise and Reggy went home… and Jette was in tears."

"Jette?" Mac cried out. "Why was she crying?"

"So, while we were apparently neglecting our son, it turns out that Jette had convinced Junior to go to the dance this Friday with her instead of Willow… which pissed off Willow and that's why they're fighting… And Junior told her tonight that he didn't want to go with Jette anyways."

"Wh…wow…"

"Yeah, you're telling me. I had no idea that this was going on… Oh wait, he did mention something about him being a terrible person."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him good job. You know, I figured I should be the supportive parent."

Mac groaned and shook his head. He stared up at the ceiling and watched the fan circle around and around.

"Well, I guess that's a sign that we're not recognizing what's important." Mac pulled his knees to his chest as he sat up.

Bloo assisted him by placing a pillow behind his back. Mac cast him a look of graciousness.

"What do you mean, oh wise man?"

"I mean… I've been so concerned about… I guess, my _other _family: my mom and my dad, and that's distracted me from Junior… and the new baby."

"If there is a new baby."

"Yeah. If there is." Mac rested his chin on his knees. "I don't think my mother and I will ever be settled between each other. I think there's too much hurt there. She wants a relationship, but she only wants a relationship if it's on her terms. If I act according to her standards… and I don't need that, Bloo. I just don't."

"I know, baby." Bloo stroked Mac's hair soothingly as he climbed onto the bed beside him. He wrapped his arms around Mac and allowed Mac to lay against him.

"I should just write them off completely."

"Both of them?"

"Yes! They're just as bad as each other."

"Uh… yeah, Mac, I don't think that's the case…"

"What do you mean?"

"Well… your dad, he seems okay."

"He's a convict and a recovering drug addict. That's what he's always going to be, Bloo."

"But he was the only one…" Bloo fumbled for words. "He's the only one that didn't reject you. He _wanted _to stay tonight, Mac. He's called a few times now because he's trying to make sure that you're okay. And he's already said that he doesn't care."

"He was really freaked out though."

"Mac. A pregnant man. That's freaky as hell."

"Okay, okay. I see your point."

Bloo nodded and murmured, "It seems that… he gets it, you know? He's never had the opportunity to be a parent. To go to your soccer games and whatever."

"I never played soccer, Bloo."

"You're not seeing the point, Mac. He gets it. All he wants to do is be in your life."

Mac smiled softly. "Well, if he does, then I'm not going to reject that."

"And maybe eventually your mom will come around too…"

"No. She's too stubborn."

"Okay, well yeah, that relationship is pretty much for shit, but… at least you can have a dad, no matter if he's a convict-drug dealer-whatever."

"Speaking of a dad," Mac said, raising himself out of the bed, "I should really go and talk to Junior about this whole Willow-Jette dance situation."

"Alright. But hurry back, okay?" Bloo said with a purr, lowering his eyelids seductively.

Mac blushed and nodded. "I'll be back."

Junior heard his father rapping on the door. He spun away from his desk and grudgingly said that his father could come in.

"Hey, Junior." Mac came in and sat down on the bed.

"Hey Dad."

"So… it seems I've been missing a few things with you."

"Yeah." Junior nodded, chewing on his bottom lip.

"You and Willow got in a fight, huh? Over this whole dance?"

"Uh huh. It all started when Jette starting making a big deal over it… she was like, but Willow's a human and you're an imaginary friend… And she was saying all it would do was cause unnecessary drama and Willow's mom wouldn't let her go with me… and Jette wanted to go with me," Junior explained.

Mac arched a brow at his son. "Uh, so the thing that was stopping you was that Willow is a human and you're… not?"

"Well, I mean, I guess I got all confused," Junior admitted. "I mean, Dad, I don't even know what the hell I am. It's like I'm caught between two worlds and I've never realized it until now. And I was thinking if I really wanted that drama myself, and if I wanted to throw myself into it, and…"

"Junior…" Mac got up and kissed his son's head. His head smelled like blueberry shampoo, the kind that he had used since he was a little kid. "You know what I think?"

Junior rolled his eyes. "Yeah Dad, I would like to know what you think."

Mac sat down on the bed again, and looked his son directly in the eyes. "I think that you are whoever you choose to be. And you don't have to choose to be an imaginary friend or be a human. Because you're both, Junior. You're right when you say that you're caught between two worlds. But that's not disabling you from doing anything, honey, it's just… it's just who you are."

Junior nodded, absorbing the information that his father had just given him. And then something occurred: a change in the light in his eyes, and he grinned at his dad.

"Wait, so what was that you just said? The whole last part?" he snatched a pen and a piece of paper.

"Uh… You're caught between two worlds but that's not stopping you? It's just who you are?"

"Yeah, yeah," Junior murmured, quickly scribbling the line down. "That's some good stuff, Dad."

Mac was confused until he suddenly realized. He threw up his hands in the air.

"Oh my God, don't tell me that you just referenced me for that speech project!"

"Yeah. Turns out the final is due tomorrow, so…" Junior sucked in air through his teeth. "I better get to work."

"Oh Junior…"

"Relax, Daddi-o, I'll get a good grade. I just needed that extra push."

"Okay, I'll let you get to work." Mac stood up and walked over to the door. He then glanced back at his son, who was sitting at his desk and hurriedly working. "Junior?"

Junior raised his head and looked at his dad.

"Do you know what you're going to do now? For the dance?"

Junior smiled broadly. "Yeah, Dad. I know what I'm going to do."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven **

Junior approached the tall brick red school with a crowd of other kids who also walked. The few buses that they had were pulling up to the elementary school and releasing kids from its belly. Looking through the streams of colors and sizes like a kaleidoscope, Junior could see a faint white light in the distance.

And that light was Willow.

She spotted him but didn't say anything. She kept her head down as she headed into the school. Junior rushed the crowd and pushed through people, desperate to get to her.

"Willow," he called out to her as they both got to their lockers.

Willow remained focused on dialing her combination. "What?"

"Willow, would you go to the dance with me?"

Her icy blue eyes sharply reprimanded him. "Are you kidding me? After we haven't been talking for now three days, you just ask me—"

Junior leaned in dangerously close to her, his brown eyes melting the ice that was in hers. Willow felt her heart skip a beat as she gazed into his eyes.

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm doing."

She gulped and averted her eyes from him, fumbling around in her locker for her folders. "W-what happened to going with Jette?"

"I pulled my head out of my ass and realized what I wanted."

"What is it that you want?"

He grabbed her wrist tightly. "Willow. I want _you._"

Willow's porcelain white face ran red as the blood rushed to it. Junior remained ever so serious, but that cocky grin had its way of climbing across his lips.

"Willow. What do you say? Could you forgive me and go?"

"W…well I don't know…"

"Please?"

"Junior…"

"Pretty please?"

"Oh come on, you are _not _doing that."

"I'll get down on my knees too if you'd like."

"What?"

"But I won't propose. I don't have a rock big enough."

Willow laughed softly, shaking her head at him as he got down on both knees and took both of her hands. She had to have been as red as a tomato. This was completely unreal.

"Okay, okay!" she blurted out. "I'll go with you, I'll go with you!"

Junior jumped back to his feet. "Awesome!"

The bell then rang, but nothing would draw them out of this moment. So simple, so pure, it was probably just the beginning of something.

The beginning of them.

"Wait a second, Junior," Willow said as they were headed down the hallway to homeroom, "did you finish your speech? It's due today!"

"I got it done. And believe you me, it's gonna knock Ms. Wallace's socks off."

As Junior and Willow were headed home together after school (partially experimenting with handholding as well) they noticed how Madame Foster's black car had been pulled into the garage on the side of the house, and now Vince was spraying it with a hose. Frankie was standing on the porch sweeping the dust, and their children, Jacob and Felicity, were running around in the front yard playing soccer with a few other imaginary friends.

"Frankie!" Junior called out, waving. "Hey Frankie! I didn't think that you were getting back so soon!"

Frankie nodded. "Well, we headed back a little early."

She arched a brow, noticing that Willow and Junior were holding hands. She grinned. "Did I miss a lot while I was away?"

"Uh…" Junior and Willow exchanged a sly look. "Kind of."

"I suppose it is good that I came back though," Frankie said, propping herself up against her broom. "Your poor dad seems to have worked himself sick—literally."

"Speaking of my dear old dad, where is he?" Junior held up a few pieces of printer paper that had been stapled together and writing scribbling on it in black ink. "And can we have a house assembly?"

"A house assembly? What for?"

"I got full points on this awesome speech I made for English class. My final," he explained to her. "And I want everyone to listen to it, because everybody here has made some impact on it. It's heartwarming, good fluffy stuff."

Frankie shrugged her shoulders in agreement and then they headed inside. Junior grabbed the ridiculously shaped microphone to the intercom system and practically shouted into it.

"Yo! All members of the house get down into the foyer! I've got some mad words that I'd like to throw at ya."

Willow laughed and gave him a shove as he hung up the mic on its stand. Frankie cracked a smile and started laughing.

"Wow, Junior, gangster much?"

Some grumbling and some ever just the same, the imaginary friends shuffled into the room. Junior saw the faces that he had come to know so well over the years: Bloppypants and Yogi Boo-Boo; Fluffer Nutter, Jackie and the kids; Wilt and Eduardo; even the completely ridiculous and annoying Cheese who made beeping sounds as he walked into the room. Junior knew each and every one of them, and over the years, he had played with each of them and gotten to known them just as Mac had when he was a kid. And somehow it made Junior swell with pride, realizing that he had done the same.

He then saw his father and Bloo come down the stairs. Mac crossed his arms sternly, but his smile as bright as it usually was.

"Junior what is this about?"

Junior held up the pages. "100% on my English final!"

Members of the house cheered, but Junior rose up a hand to stop them.

"Look, I wrote this speech about my family. And you guys are my family, so you all helped me write it in your own way. I'd like to share it with you."

The friends once again cheered and Junior smiled broadly, all of his white sharp teeth glittering in the light. He then looked down at his paper, and began his speech.

"I am a person caught between two worlds, my dad Mac once told me. But that doesn't disable me from doing anything: in fact, if anything, it makes me stronger, because there's a _huge _story behind where I come from and who I am.

"There's a lot of people behind that, and they are my family. It's them that I have to be grateful for. It is my family who has shaped us into who I am. So, who am I?" Junior quizzically looked out at the audience, but his façade was given away by the smirk he struggled to hide.

"I come from strong roots," he said, his voice gaining in power. "I have learned—thanks to that big mouth of my father, Bloo—that I come from people who had fallen victim to life's false commodities… and those who were victims of those people. I come from a big house full of colors and kooky things… to a hotel hallway on the other side of the world. I come from great men and great women. My great grandmother, Madame Foster, I can barely remember, but she was one of the most awesome women you could ever meet, with all that she did for Foster's. My great grandfather, Mr. Herriman, was the one who for years, kept things together. And Frankie, my aunt, is just as cool with how she has always helped me with whatever I needed. All of the friends here have lived through being abandoned, and it's just an awe inspiring thing to me that they don't lose their optimism. They have enough confidence in themselves to know that one day, they will be adopted by somebody who loves them.

"My parents crossed two worlds to have me be an object of their future. They lived through hell and back and endured all that came with it, especially the venom that was projected from the mouths of haters. Of those who hated that people could be different. And then, they had to raise me and solve the problems in their own lives, and what they had in their relationship. What kept them together, what kept the three of us together, was our familial bond to each other.

"Throughout the experiences of my family, I have learned so many important lessons—like when you're an eleven year old boy, you are now too old to fit down the laundry shoot, and you really shouldn't steal anything from Duchess's room, and that you should just run away from Cheese because he will drive you _crazy_—but there are three major ones that I predominantly live by. One is to know yourself, and be it. The second is to learn from your mistakes and to fix them. And the final one, which is the most important… is to love your family and your friends no matter what." Junior lowered the paper and looked out at the friends, who he saw were in a trance, completely mesmerized by his words. "These are strong lessons, taught by strong people. And this is who I am."

All at once the friends swarmed Junior and were cheering and clamoring over him. Junior laughed as he and Willow were lifted up above the ground and carried around on the waves of arms, tentacles and wings in an endless circle. The whole while, everyone was laughing.

Mac and Bloo watched from the stairs, safely away from the ground floor. Both were beaming, prideful of their son's speech.

"He told me he would get it done," Mac said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I just didn't know that he would do so good on it."

"Of course he would have," Bloo protested, elbowing Mac with a grin. "He's smart like you. Mainly me, but you too."

Mac wrapped his arms around Bloo's head and kissed his lips. What Bloo had expected to be brief he now found was lasting a long time, and he saw the flirtatious, overjoyed look swimming in Mac's deep brown eyes…

"Mac? Has something happened?"

"Nothing," Mac protested, grinning.

"Are you _sure_?"

"Absolutely nothing is wrong," Mac replied, crossing his arms and leaning against the railing. He kept smiling all the while though.

A light then clicked on in Bloo's head.

"The baby!"

"Bingo. Took you long enough there." Mac smiled. "I did the test this morning."

Bloo crowed, "No way! No way!"

"Yes!" Mac kissed Bloo in response. "Yes."


	8. Epilogue

_Welcome to the ending of the Ending (I kinda love the sound of that.) Yes. This was all published super-duper fast! But y'know, I preferred to just put it all out there and leave it for the readers to enjoy. :-) Sorry if I didn't feed anyone's anticipation. I'm not really good at doing that. XD _

_Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this story, and an extra special thank you to all those who will leave reviews. But even more so, I'm very grateful for the people who clicked on "The Never Ending Weekend" and read that crazy little fic, and then read every crazy little fic after that. Your support has meant a lot to me in this fandom! I hope that everyone has enjoyed this story, and please R&R. _

**Epilogue **

Mac sat in the rocking chair by the little window, a decorative blanket of moons and stars draped over the small baby's body that laid against his chest. After carrying her in his stomach, and then a chamber essentially doing the rest of the work, she was now here in the world. Mac examined each of her toes and fingers, which were small and a blue. The blue tint of her skin, he noticed, was even fainter than Junior's, and a cross between an ice and a sky blue, but it was just as lovely.

They had named her Adalie, in which Bloo and Mac had combined their favorite girl names: Adele and Adalia.

Adalie yawned in her sleep, and it was as quiet as the whisper of the wind. Bloo passed by and stood in the doorway, watching his daughter with a beaming smile on his face.

"So are we going to keep her?"

"Oh, I like her," Mac responded, holding her securely as he rocked back in the chair. He rubbed her back with a free hand. "I like her a lot. She doesn't even cry."

"We got our dose of a crybaby. He's out with his friends tonight, running around. Relishing the beautiful spring world."

"Mmm," Mac responded, nodding. "Did my dad go home already?"

"Yeah. He said he had work in the morning. So he went home."

Mac hugged the baby closer to him. "This is a really nice blanket that your grandpa got for you, little girl."

"He's going to spoil both of those kids rotten," Bloo grumbled, settling himself down in an armchair by Adalie's crib. "Ever since you said you were pregnant, he's been on the celebration ship and won't get off."

"I don't mind it." Mac raised his head to look at him. "He's just trying to catch up on time lost."

_Mom couldn't though. _Mac thought, slightly sad. The last time he had seen her had been that night when she had stormed out. She had called a few times, but whenever Mac answered the phone, she always hung up. It seemed that her standards were heavily conflicting with what she felt like she needed. His mother had died three months ago, and Mac found that while he had regrets, he didn't feel guilty. He felt sad, but he knew he would never feel guilty for not having a relationship with her.

"Okay, Mac, seriously? Now you're just hogging her."

"Alright, alright." Mac stood up and passed the baby over to Bloo.

"Wow." Bloo was marveling at how little she was, at how perfect she was. "Dude, you and I have some pretty friggin' awesome genetics."

Mac laughed. "I guess we do."

He drifted over to the window, and shut the curtains. But outside, the night still drove on.

**The End**


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